


Distraction

by devovere



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Chakotay crashed another shuttle, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings, Janeway demands answers, Unresolved Sexual Tension, starts rom-com gets dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovere/pseuds/devovere
Summary: Captain Janeway is determined to uncover the reason Chakotay keeps crashing her shuttles, but he is less than forthcoming … until pushed to his breaking point.





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Killermanatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/gifts).



> My original vision of this story was light-hearted, sexy fun. Chakotay just wouldn’t cooperate. He is made of angst where Kathryn is concerned. 
> 
> Warmest thanks to klugtiger for skillful and speedy beta-reading.

Captain Janeway finished reading Commander Chakotay’s report on yet another shuttle crash and looked toward the ceiling with her lips pressed together. She’d always appreciated his concise, plain writing, but this was taking things too far. The report said little beyond his admission of responsibility for the crash. She tapped her badge and summoned him to her ready room. 

Less than two minutes later, Chakotay was standing before the captain’s desk. When she didn’t gesture him towards a chair but instead sat back with her arms crossed, he realized he was literally being called on the carpet. He had been expecting this ever since he’d submitted his report on the shuttle accident. Sighing inwardly, he stood at attention and resolved to keep his mouth shut and take his punishment without complaint or protest … or elaboration. 

“Commander.” Janeway spoke in a clipped, no-nonsense tone. “Explain this report.” 

Keeping his eyes fixed on the wall just above her head, Chakotay responded, “Aye, Captain. My report describes the circumstances, contributing factors, and outcome of my recent shuttle accident.” 

Janeway raised an eyebrow worthy of Tuvok. “Hardly,” she ground out. 

Chakotay waited. 

She picked up the PADD in front of her and began reading. 

“Circumstances: Shuttle was orbiting uninhabited class-M moon while landing party scanned on surface for dilithium deposits. 

“Contributing factors: Pilot error compounded mechanical malfunctions beyond safety margins. 

“Outcome: Shuttle impacted a plain. Shuttle damage detailed in appendix. Pilot suffered non-life-threatening injuries.” 

She returned the offending PADD to the desktop with a firm  _ clack _ that conveyed her displeasure almost as emphatically as her infamous death glare -- which, he noted in his peripheral vision, was set to high wattage and aimed directly at him. 

He waited some more, studiously avoiding eye contact. 

“Well?” she finally said. “What do you have to say to that?” 

“My apologies, Captain, for writing an unsatisfactory report. What shall I amend in my revised report?” He kept his tone even and his syntax strictly professional. 

“What shall you  _ amend _ ? Seriously, Chakotay?” She stood up, forcing him to meet her eyes, and made a show of looking him over head to toe. He felt his face grow warm under her scrutiny and lowered his gaze slightly. When he realized he was staring at his commanding officer’s chest, he quickly raised it again, hoping he hadn’t blushed visibly. He swallowed nervously and hoped she would take it at face value, the anxiety of a subordinate at having his work critiqued. 

“Are you sure the Doctor cleared you for duty?” 

Her question was rhetorical, as she had been present in sickbay when the EMH did precisely that, but he played along. “Quite sure, Captain. Why do you ask?” 

“Because if I didn’t know our Doctor better, I’d suspect he left your concussion half-healed. Your quite  _ serious _ concussion, the third you’ve suffered in two years.” 

“Why is that, Captain?” he asked stolidly, knowing she was leading him into a trap but unwilling to break with his scripted role in this dressing-down. 

“Because of what’s  _ missing _ from this report, Commander!” she snapped. “You cost us six weeks’ worth of Engineering's replicator allotment by damaging yet another of my shuttles, and you think  _ forty measly words _ makes a sufficient report? This is completely unacceptable.” 

“My apologies, Captain. I will revise the report immediately and have it on your desk by end of shift. Which points shall I expand?” 

“Oh, no. I’m not sending you back to your office to write more sentences that ultimately tell me nothing useful. I don’t want verbiage. I want  _ answers _ . We’re getting to the bottom of this right here, right now.” 

A beat. “The … bottom of what, Captain?” He almost winced, wishing immediately that he had picked another word to echo. Or just replied, “Yes, Captain.”  _ Stick to the script, old man _ , he reminded himself silently, and felt his blush deepen. 

She didn’t react to his growing discomfiture. “It’s a puzzle, Chakotay, and I do not enjoy puzzles where my crew is concerned.” She stepped out from behind her desk and stood beside it, contemplating him for a moment, frowning. 

“Captain?” He suddenly wasn’t sure where this was going. He let his eyes slide to her face, then caught himself and returned his gaze to its original spot on the wall -- safely distant from the sight that was throwing him so off-center yet again. 

“Your Starfleet records and commendations attest to your remarkable skill as a pilot. Nearly two decades of service with nary an accident, not so much as a reprimand where your flying is concerned. No surprise, given that you led Nova Squadron your last year at the Academy.” As she spoke, the pace of her words had slowed and her tone had shifted from annoyed to contemplative. Wheels were turning in her head. 

He darted another glance at her and found her in her favorite posture for problem solving: one hand on her hip, the other poised under her perfect chin. He dragged his gaze away again and struggled to keep his thoughts on what she was saying. 

“And in the Maquis, you were not only the captain of your ship, you were often its primary pilot. Tuvok reported the  _ Val Jean _ escaped quite a few scrapes thanks to your quick reflexes and top-rate technical skills.” Her tone softened further. “You were at the helm when the Caretaker’s displacement wave brought the  _ Val Jean _ to this quadrant, weren’t you? Could that help explain why your crew suffered so few casualties compared to  _ Voyager _ ?” 

He hung his head, momentarily undone by her praise combined with his dreadful memories of that event. But she waited for an answer. “I was flying, Captain, but I couldn’t say whether I saved any lives that day.”  

“No, I don’t suppose any of us could,” she murmured. She seemed to catch herself growing too introspective and returned abruptly to the matter at hand. “But you see the source of my confusion.” 

He remained silent. She suddenly strode over to him and stood with both hands on her hips, Janeway death glare resuming full force. “Chakotay!” 

“Captain?” 

“You’re an excellent pilot. Or you were, anyway, until you joined my crew. Why is that?” 

“I’m sorry, Captain, I can’t explain it.” 

“Is it trauma, from the war? Has it affected your confidence?” 

His brow creased. “Captain, I have no post-traumatic symptoms and have passed all psychological testing since receiving my field commission. If you think I’m unfit for duty…” 

She waved his line of argument away. “No, you’re clearly excelling in all your other duties. I’m not suggesting anything like that. But what is causing these piloting errors?” 

He felt like a specimen under a microscope, trapped under her bright and discerning gaze. Helplessly, he repeated the only truthful statement he could safely make in response to her query. “I … can’t explain it.” 

“Could it be your eyesight? Presbyopia often sets in after forty,” she mused. 

That stung his pride a bit. “No, Captain, my vision is perfect according to the Doctor.”

“Anything on your mind lately? Any unusual preoccupations?” She was relentless. He had to do something to direct her away from this line of questioning. 

“Captain, I will strive to … stay more focused in future, or if you find my recent record is too compromised, I could be removed from shuttle piloting altogether. I can’t defend or explain my distraction; it was just a simple, regrettable, momentary lapse of attention.”

“Momentary,” she echoed, her voice flat. 

“Captain?” he asked, panic rising. 

“You said ‘momentary.’ A momentary lapse of attention.”

“Yes, Captain.” He was sunk. She knew. 

“Chakotay, how long is a moment?” 

He could make no acceptable response to this patently trick question, and so he held his tongue, praying now only for a quick end to the matter.  

“B'Elanna sent me the flight data,” she barked, exasperated with his obstinance. “The shuttle's orbit degraded gradually for  _ twelve minutes _ before it hit atmo and spiraled out of control. The altitude sensors malfunctioned, so there was no auditory alarm, but all other nav readings were accurate and were displayed on the console.” Her voice grew steadily louder as she recounted the damning evidence of his lapse. 

“I'd suspect you had fallen asleep --  or made an extended visit to the head -- but biometric readings prove you were awake and at the helm. Yet you didn't touch the controls until you felt turbulence from entering the atmosphere.” 

Now she was in his face, like a drill instructor berating a cadet, eyes boring deep into his own, piercing his mental armor. “Did you decide to consult your animal guide while piloting a shuttle? For twelve minutes? What the hell were you  _ doing _ , Chakotay?”

Her open cruelty snapped his control, suddenly and irreparably, exploding it into fragments like a shuttle with a warp core breach, like his heart had done long ago under the heat and pressure of his feelings for this brilliant, magnetic woman. 

“It was  _ you _ , all right?! I was daydreaming about  _ you _ , and I got distracted!” It came out almost as a roar, and he felt a distant jolt of shock as she took a step back from him.  _ Kathryn Janeway does not step back _ , he thought with odd detachment. He might have been awed by what he had just done, but the pulse pounding in his ears was too loud to think about consequences right now. 

“Daydreaming?” she sputtered. Then, with a tiny shift in tone, and after just a second too long, “About  _ me _ ? What in the world, Chakotay?” There was something raw and defiant in her husky voice, some inchoate yearning. She was asking the very question she would have sworn she never wanted him to answer:  _ What do you think of me, when I’m not there to see _ ? 

“About you,” he confirmed, his voice dropping in volume, his eyes falling to meet hers, drawn into their blue-grey depths. “About you. Your eyes. Your … hair. Your hands, your voice, your --” He broke off, helpless, suddenly entranced by her lips, parted with shock. She closed her mouth, took another step back. Dropped her gaze from his face and caught her lower lip in her teeth. 

Emboldened by this new gap in her captain’s mask, and half-mad at the thought of what that lively, curving lip might taste like, he took his life in his hands and spoke again. “Your mouth. Your neck and how you would smell if I nuzzled you there, below your ear. Your elbows bending against my palms, as you raise your hands to my chest and open my jacket.” They were both breathing hard. Her eyes were closed, while he couldn’t have torn his away from her face had there been a phaser set to kill aimed at his head. 

“The shape of your shoulder blades as we wrap our arms around each other. The warmth of your breath against my jaw as you tip your face up towards mine. The softness of your breasts against my chest, and the scrape of your fingernails against my back, running under my shirt.” 

They both shuddered. He couldn’t stop. He was hurtling headlong toward the massive fortress of her protocol, her propriety and isolation, too late to pull up, no hope of a rescue beam-out this time. Succeed or fail, he would die in the attempt.  _ Worth it _ , he thought, and nearly said aloud.  _ Worth everything _ . 

His voice intensified, grew graveled with passion. “The strength and the curve of your hip as you wrap a leg around mine. Your heat against my hardness.” A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, and she swallowed convulsively, unconsciously rubbing her palms against her thighs, her body rigid, holding back. “Your gasp as my hands move lower, and your moan as we press, and press, and press…” 

And at this she did moan, a low and desperate sound escaping her lovely throat. 

Her voice broke the spell that had held her in place. She whirled away from him, bending slightly at the hips to grasp the edge of the desk and steady herself. Her legs were shaking and she hoped he didn’t notice. 

He didn’t. Deprived of the sight of her gorgeous face, his eyes were suddenly riveted to her ass. Then they were filled with a powerful vision of striding to meet her, grasping those slim hips with both his large hands, and wrenching her body back against his throbbing erection. Running his hands up to fondle her breasts. Shedding her clothes, then his, nudging her knees apart with one of his own, and then taking her in one powerful thrust -- 

The breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding suddenly left his lungs, the opposite of a gasp, almost percussive, and he used the very last dregs of his shredded willpower to turn his back to her and walk away several steps. He couldn’t leave her ready room in this condition. He was seized by the ludicrous image of saluting the entire bridge crew with a raging hard-on, and failed to suppress another explosive exhalation, this one verging on hysterical laughter. 

“Captain,” he offered, his voice even rougher now. “I -- oh, spirits -- I apologize.” 

“Commander,” she attempted. Her voice sounded choked. He didn’t dare look at her. 

“I apologize,” he repeated stupidly, at a loss for words, any words that weren’t  _ I’m sorry _ or  _ I need you _ or  _ I love you _ . He grimaced suddenly, brought his fists to his eyes, desperately wishing to rewind time, unsay the unforgivable truth that they had always before kept unspoken and balanced between them. A high-wire act with no safety net, and he’d just plunged to his death. Or killed the unnameable, amorphous thing between them. He’d prefer the former, for he didn’t think he could live with her contempt, and the knowledge that he had earned it through one momentary attack of honesty. 

“Chakotay,” she said, and placed her hand on his back. He froze. No, he petrified. His very molecules turned instantly to stone with the dread of what her nearness might release in him, in this state of arousal and despair.  _ Not like this, please, not in brokenness and fear, it will feel like violence and I cannot I cannot I cannot do that to Kathryn, please no please no _ . He swallowed the urge to seize her in his arms, very slowly drew breath, found his voice. 

“Kathryn.” In his use of her name, she heard the warning growl of a wounded animal. She slowly and carefully backed away. He felt the air cool around him, and breathed out, “Thank you. I -- need a minute. I’m sorry.” 

Silence descended. He took another few steps, stopped, leaned with his palms against the bulkhead. Sent a fervent and entirely fruitless prayer for aid to his spirit guide. Thought of navigational calculations, of tactical maneuvers, of the latest disciplinary hassles with various ensigns. Slowly his head cleared and his body calmed. Yet more slowly, he turned to face Kathryn. 

He couldn’t quite look at her, from shame. So he didn't see her face as she said quietly, “Chakotay … you scared me.” 

Her words were acid in an open wound and no less than he deserved. In a wretched, hopeless voice, he stammered, “Sorry doesn’t even  _ begin _ to make it right, Kathryn. I should not have spoken; I knew you … wouldn’t welcome my feelings. But please, I  _ beg _ you, please believe that I would never, never hurt you, never touch you unasked. I would die first.” 

She listened to this, almost motionless. Then she said, in a patient voice, “Look at me, Chakotay.” He gathered what was left of his courage and did so. 

She was gazing at him, with a face as open and trusting as he had ever seen. “You misunderstand. Your words today aren’t what scared me. Your accident yesterday is what scared me.”

She slowly, carefully, walked towards him, her eyes never leaving his face. “Your shuttle went down, without a word from you, just the automated beacon signal triggered by impact. For a moment, until Harry found your lifesign --” Her voice wavered. She blinked rapidly, drew a steadying breath. He opened his mouth to explain, to console her, but she silenced him with a raised palm. 

She continued, a grim determination in her voice, grief in her eyes. “I thought you had died. Maybe you’d ... stroked out alone at the helm and collapsed onto the controls, sending the shuttle down. You were beamed to sickbay, and for once there was no other crisis for me to handle, no battle, no damage to  _ Voyager _ . I went to your side and watched the Doctor work on you.” 

His shame was giving way to relief, at her tender words and tone. “I didn’t know, Kathryn. I only knew you were there when I woke up.”  _ As you always are _ , he left unsaid. Hope stirred in him. 

“You took a long time. To wake up. A long time. I had to wonder if you would and to think about what I would do, if you didn’t.” 

For a few seconds, as she held his gaze, she let him see what he meant to her. The agony and yearning on her face stilled his voice, and almost his heart. In any other setting, it would have felled his large frame, brought him to his knees in wonder and affirmation. She loved him. She didn’t need to say it when it was written all over her face. 

She let them experience the moment, gazing in stillness and love at one another. And then she took a deep breath and rearranged her features back to their usual firm confidence. His sense of deep empathic connection to her grew muted, so that even when she took another step closer to him, he felt a distance between them. Even as she reached for his hand and held it between her two own, he recognized that things were now returning to normal. 

And he was grateful. Normal was by her side, sharing her burden. It wasn’t all he wanted, but after this storm of feeling, his fear of irreparable rupture, it was very good indeed. 

“Chakotay,” she breathed, looking down at his hand. Then up at his face, sharply, as she released his hand, “Do not  _ ever _ do that to me again.” 

“I won’t, Captain.” he replied somberly. 

“Keep your mind on your job when you’re at the helm, Commander.” 

“I will, Captain.” 

“And about that report --” she tilted her head, thinking. He held his breath. “Yes. You need to revise it.” 

“Captain?” 

“You made an error, and it can’t be left as is.” Her voice went stark and cold for a moment. “Your injuries  _ were  _ life-threatening. The Doctor said so while you were unconscious. Any delay in treatment .... could have had devastating results.” 

A beat. “I’m sorry, Captain.” He hoped she could hear all the layers and depths of his regret, his acknowledgment of all the harm he had done and had risked doing: to the shuttle, to himself, to her peace of mind, to their careful, trusting, unspoken balance. “I’ll correct it. Immediately.” 

“See that you do. Dismissed.” 

\-----

A few nights later, at a musical program well-attended by the crew, Tuvok had occasion to observe his two commanding officers, out of uniform and off-duty. 

They were seated next to each other, one row ahead of him. Their postures were upright and they were neither touching nor looking at one another. Yet as Ensign Kim’s clarinet sonata came to a close and the audience broke into applause, he noticed that neither Captain Janeway nor Commander Chakotay moved for several seconds. Then they both jerked in startlement, cast a glance toward one another, and held their mutual gaze for longer than social norms would recommend in such a setting. 

They turned forward again only as the applause began to die down, but not before Tuvok observed what he could only describe as a guilty half-grin on each of their faces. There was no mistaking the matching blushes that crept up the back of each neck before him. 

He remembered learning about the human trait called “daydreaming.” It was described by Vulcan texts as an illogical exercise of the imagination that could leave one unaware of one’s surroundings. 

He did not recall the texts mentioning that a daydream could be a shared activity, preoccupying the thoughts of more than one person simultaneously. 

_ Fascinating _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by some very silly chatter among members of the Voyager Book Club. It was observed that parallel parking for one’s driver’s license test might be more difficult while imagining a naked Chakotay. And then: 
> 
> Killermanatee: don't think of naked KJ cause I'm pretty sure that's what caused all the shuttle incidents.  
> Ariella884: and THAT is why Chakotay couldn't fly without crashing! it all makes so much sense now! 
> 
> Whereupon I wondered what Chakotay’s post-accident report would say, and whether Janeway would buy his story. 
> 
> Answer: very little, and not for a second.


End file.
